Kymberley Kennedy’s blog

Well, you see, the problem is that I like writing. I like it far to much to the point where my fingers ache and the computer keyboard stops being so accommodating as the keys wear out (first the "n" key and then later the "d" key, etc). It's a curse, perhaps, but I can't seem to stop it.

Aside from writing lyrics, I have recently taken to writing stories. This is a dangerous forte if you consider the fact that I have a very zaney, sometimes dry sense of humour. But needs must and my fingers betray me and begin the uncontrollable act of writing before my brain kicks in.

Below is an excerpt from my current story, based on my own life. It depicts my reaction to my new born baby sister at the age of 4:

"Shrugging his response off with a grimace I jumped on the bed to inspect the demon child. Squinting at her and prodding at her like I imagine a biology student does when dissecting an unsuspecting small animal and I thought to myself that maybe having a sister might not be too bad. It’s not that I particularly liked the idea of sharing my parents love or anything to that effect. It’s just, well, she was quite ordinary. She was, I thought, quite unappealing. I frowned at her as I pondered.

 

You’re not so special. You’re not special at all. You can’t talk and you certainly can’t walk. What exactly do you do aside from sleep, cry, poo yourself, eat, only to poo yourself again before finishing off the day with nice creamy vomiting session all over our parents. Then you fall asleep only to repeat your routine again the next day. I’m sure I’ve seen a doll that does all that in Argos for about £39.99. The only difference is you can throw it away when you get bored of it. No, you’re not special. You’re quite useless. I don’t know why mother and father kept you. If they weren’t going to get me a brother they could have saved us all a lot of trouble and bought a puppy instead."